Page 11 of Lies Among Gods

Clara's gaze darted away from Lyra as Clara roughly shoved the gym bag into Lyra’s hands. “Put these on. Now.”

Lyra’s eyes, wide with confusion, flickered between the two. A faint rustle accompanied her as she opened the bag, her fingers brushing against the items within. She pulled out a baseball cap,a pair of chunky glasses, and a surprisingly heavy, bleach-blonde wig that tickled her nose with a faint chemical scent. She then peered back into the bag, the same grey sweats and black tank top Clara had on.

"A disguise?” Lyra asked, lifting an eyebrow.

"Look, they’re watching your house for you,” Adrian explained, gesturing vaguely toward the curtained window. “They’re not watching for a generic Earth-worshipper going out for a run with her friend. You put that on, you match Clara, and we walk right past them."

Lyra looked at Clara, who still hadn’t met her gaze. She sighed, recognizing the absurdity of the situation. Her ex-boyfriend and ex-best friend were offering her a chance to benormalfor an hour, even if it was just a cynical publicity stunt for Adrian. She shrugged, grabbed the wig, and pulled her long hair up beneath the cap. The dark brown strands felt heavy, tucked away. She changed quickly into the borrowed clothes. When she looked up, Adrian was watching her, his brown eyes assessing, but no longer with the haughty disdain of high school. Now those eyes were looking at her with an intensity that felt dangerously like calculation.

"Perfect," he said, the corners of his mouth lifting into a self-satisfied smile that crinkled the edges of his eyes. “Now, let’s go out for a bit to eat"

The door creaked open, and a blinding strobe of camera flashes erupted, a chaotic dance of light and shadow. She flinched, a knot of anxiety tightening in her stomach as the sudden glare assaulted her eyes.

“Oh, it’s someone else,” one male reporter groaned.

The sudden silence of the cameras was palpable. Lyra kept her head bowed, too scared to look up, the thick-rimmed glasses and baseball cap casting shadows over her face, while the blonde wig felt scratchy and unnatural against her scalp. Adrian, radiatingsmug confidence that seemed to hum in the air, led the way, his arm a warm, light pressure on her shoulder. The press pack, a dense, roaring wave of disappointment, pulsed just beyond the Nymphaea’s manicured front yard.

"Keep walking,” Adrian murmured, his voice a low rumble, a warm breath tickling her ear and making her flinch. “Don’t look up."

Lyra nodded stiffly, her gaze fixed on the rough, cool concrete of the driveway beneath her feet.

As they reached the street, the camera flashes stuttered—a few reporters glancing up, then immediately looking away. They were searching for the auburn-haired girl from the videos, not the generic blonde. They were dismissed as quickly as they were seen.

A wave of relief so sharp it was almost painful washed over Lyra. For a few steps, she was back to being a nobody. She never thought she would miss it as much as she did now. The public scrutiny was worse than just living with her parents’ disappointment.

"See?" Adrian said, his tone triumphant as they passed the reporters and turned down the quiet side street. “Easy. They’re looking for a pretty little goddess, not a blonde nobody."

She frowned at his words.Did he really just call the person he used to help me a nobody?Part of her wanted to defend Clara, but then she remembered how Clara had treated her in high school and decided to keep her mouth shut.It’s probably better to let him play his hand than call him out where I can get caught by the media out in public.

“I knew my plan would work,” Adrian laughed. “I am quite resourceful.”

Lyra bit her lip, the slight sting a small distraction from the sarcastic retort bubbling up. The hum of distant traffic faded as they turned away from the main street and the clatter ofthe tram. Instead, Adrian led her towards a sleek, black electric sedan, its polished surface reflecting the muted streetlights. He held the passenger door open for her to slide in.

"Clara still works at her father’s business?” Lyra asked, sliding into the passenger seat and hoping to shift the subject.

“Part-time,” Adrian replied, settling behind the wheel. “Her parents are pushing her to apply to the Sun Temple again. You know they rejected her application, also?”

Lyra shook her head, the gentle hum of Adrian’s car a low rumble as it glided effortlessly through the traffic. Outside, the sun bled a fiery orange and deep purple across the horizon, casting long, stretching shadows that danced on the asphalt.

“She is worshipping Seren now,” Adrian snickered. “Can you see her being peaceful? She does yoga or something.”

A prickle of curiosity, sharp and almost ticklish, ran up my spine. A low hum of satisfaction, warm and settling in my chest, accompanied the thought that Clara, too, had been denied. “So why do her parents want her to apply for Elio?”

“Says she needs to elevate her profile now that you’re… well, you.” He didn’t elaborate; instead, he pulled smoothly onto a street. “Hungry? I know a place downtown. Old-school diner.”

Lyra simply nodded. Adrian drove on, the car’s headlights cutting through the twilight as they arrived at a small, fluorescent-lit diner, a beacon beneath the rumbling tracks of the elevated tramline. He gently gripped her elbow, his touch a subtle pressure as he guided her inside. A quick, instinctive urge to flinch tightened her muscles, but she suppressed it, not wanting to draw attention. The long counter gleamed with polished chrome, reflecting the harsh lights, and the booths, upholstered in cool, slick red vinyl, beckoned. The air, thick and warm, carried the savory scent of fried potatoes mingled with the bitter aroma of strong coffee.

They slid into a booth, and a waitress with a Threxus pin on her apron came over.

Before Lyra could even look at the menu, Adrian spoke up, shoving them back at the waitress. “We’ll take two orders of the Classic Sunrise Platter. Extra bacon. And two coffees. Two creamers and three sugars.”

Lyra’s jaw tightened. She hated overly sweet coffee and rarely ate the heavy, greasy breakfast platter for dinner. It was a completely impersonal order, presuming her tastes hadn’t changed since high school. She almost snapped at him, but bit the words back, choosing instead to focus on the anonymity of the moment.Let it go. It’s just food. You’re out and you don’t want to draw attention to yourself.She pulled the sunglasses off and set them on the table next to her.

When the waitress left, Adrian leaned forward, his chocolate-brown eyes fixing on hers. “So, tell me everything. The Strife God? The Lust God? You’ve made some impressive friends. Are you actually a goddess, or is this just a massive marketing stunt for some minor cult?"

"There’s not much to tell, Adrian,” Lyra said, her eyes darting around the diner. “It’s exactly what the news said. I was denied by every god, and then the Strife God told me why."

Adrian laughed, a genuine, delighted sound. “Of course, he did. Strife. The irony. It’s perfect. It makes you an instant icon. You’re not a reject; you’re a prophecy.” He paused, then his smile turned softer, more familiar. “You know, I always knew you were destined for something bigger than the rest of us, Lyra."